


Bittersweet

by alasse



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Justin Comes Back, M/M, Post-Series, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2016-06-27
Packaged: 2018-07-18 13:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7316149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alasse/pseuds/alasse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Brian could actually count the times he’d drunk champagne."</p>
<p>Snapshots of Brian's life, pre, during and post series - times of celebration, of pain, and of Justin finally coming back home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bittersweet

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on lj [here](http://alasse.livejournal.com/34796.html) in 2008.

Brian always considered himself a whiskey man. He drank beer, because who the hell doesn’t, and he knew all the great wines, because he had to impress the clients and make sure he fit in. Still, it was always whiskey he went back to, usually Jim Beam. Justin once asked him why the hell he still drank Beam when he could easily afford Johnny Walker, black or blue label. 

Brian shrugged and never replied, but if he’d been the kind of guy to reminisce, he would’ve said it was because Beam was the first thing he ever drank, and the first thing he ever got plastered to. It was Jack’s drink of choice, and Brian swiped a bottle of it when he was fourteen. He had a lot of firsts when he was fourteen. Whiskey was an anesthetic for Brian, both an anesthetic and a reminder. He drank it to forget, but it forced him to remember. The bitter, biting taste of it was Jack’s breath, and Mikey’s first drink. It was years of struggle, years of soccer and hard work, and scholarships and crappy housing. Whiskey was Brian’s past, and he made it his present and his future.

Asking for a shot of Beam was Brian’s one nod to everything he’d been before, and getting sucked off a few seconds later was Brian’s way of saying “fuck you” to everything he’d been before.

Champagne was a different matter altogether. Brian could actually count the times he’d drunk champagne, and the memories weren’t all good and filled with the happy celebration a bottle of bubbly usually entailed.

+

“Congratulations, kiddo!” Debbie hugged Brian hard enough to bruise his ribs. “You did it. Graduated from Carnegie fucking Mellon!”

“And Cum fucking Laude!” Vic crowed. He frowned for a second, and added, “Is it just me, or did that kind of sound like a crappy porn movie?”

Debbie rolled her eyes and hit Vic upside the head.

Brian smiled, trying to act like it was no big deal. After all, graduation was more a relief than a celebration, because after four goddamned years of putting up with his homophobic soccer coach, Brian was finally done. He had a job lined up at an agency where he did an internship, and he knew that if he worked hard, he’d get job offers from agencies like Ryder and Matthews Inc.

“Congratulations, Brian,” Mikey said from behind. 

Brian turned around, and saw his best friend carrying a bottle of champagne. Brian looked back at Vic and Debbie, who were giving him shit-eating smiles, and he couldn’t keep his hands from shaking as he took the champagne from Michael. When Brian’s fingers grasped the chilled bottle, he closed his eyes, and for a moment, he allowed himself to relish his achievement, to breathe in the fresh summer air. Debbie, Vic and Michael were grinning like fools. They couldn’t afford this, no way. But they’d bought it anyway, to mark Brian’s accomplishment, to stand in for a family he no longer belonged to. He wondered how long Debbie had saved, what comic Michael had stopped himself from buying to give this to him.

“Thank you,” Brian whispered, and dragged Michael into a one-armed hug.

Michael leaned up and gave him a kiss on the lips. “We’re all proud of you, Brian.”

He cleared his throat, and gave the Novotnys a smirk. “No time like the present.” He broke the seal open, and with his thumb, pushed the cork, which flew off with a loud pop. The champagne started flowing immediately, and Brian started pouring into the plastic red cups Debbie produced. They toasted, and drank deep. The champagne tasted like success. 

+

“Slower,” Mr. Telson said.

Brian rolled his eyes and unbuttoned his jeans more slowly, finally taking them off. Telson said some bullshit flattery about Brian’s body, as if Brian didn’t already fucking know his body was incredible. He couldn’t believe a potential client was on his knees, looking at his dick like a person on Atkins looked at pasta. The phone rang, and Brian stifled a mocking chuckle as he looked at Telson basically crawling to answer it. He spied an open bottle of Moet Chandon on one of the tables, and threw himself down on one of the plush, golden chairs before taking a deep drink. From what he could make out, Telson had a family emergency of some sort, but the asshole was putting it off in favor of fucking Brian. Goddamned cowardly closet cases.

Brian looked up and was startled to see himself reflected on the mirror. He saw the way the long, taut lines of his body were accentuated by the soft light the bed-side lamp gave off, the way he looked like an expensive hustler. Fuck. He was an expensive hustler. Stripping himself and waiting to get fucked by some jackass old guy to get an account. The champagne he’d drank rose up to his throat, the once sweet taste choking him with bitter tanginess. What the fuck was he doing? He was twenty-nine years old. He was a father. He was Brian Kinney, for fuck’s sake.

Telson hung up and moved closer to Brian, still on his knees. Brian questioned him, and found out Telson’s daughter had broken her arm and was asking for him. Whatever strange morals Brian lived by, they kicked in right there. No fucking way this asshole breeder was sucking his dick and fucking him instead of being where he should be, where he belonged. Telson’s visit to Queerworld was over.

Brian walked out of the hotel room naked, his clothes and shoes in his hands. He dressed in the elevator, and when he reached the lobby, he decided to go and visit Gus. He needed to see his Sonny Boy, needed to see someone who wasn’t tainted by the crap and bullshit the world was filled with.

+

Brian stared at the white wall in front of him. Mikey was sitting next to him, speaking, but his words were incomprehensible, and his arm around Brian did nothing to warm the chill inside him. The world was flickering white lights, strong antiseptic smell, blood. Broken smiles, broken promises. The best night turning into the worst.

A bottle of the finest champagne was in an ice bucket in the loft. Brian had bought it, before heading to Justin’s prom.

Three days later, Brian sent the champagne bottle flying against the wall, watched the golden colored liquid stain everything it touched. To him, it looked like red staining white satin.

+

“Your partner just made partner!” Brian called out. He put his briefcase down, but held on to the bottle in his hand. The loft was dark and quiet. It took him a few more hesitant steps to figure out it was empty. He frowned. It was pretty late, and it was strange for Justin to be out. Brian was fairly certain he’d left his itinerary lying around somewhere. He hoped Justin hadn’t expected a call, because, fuck, Brian just didn’t do that. He didn’t even call Michael when he was away.

He left the champagne on the kitchen counter and headed to the bedroom to change. Maybe the guys knew where Justin was. Maybe he was with them.

A few hours later, Brian returned to the loft, fucked out and quickly losing his high. He didn’t feel like taking another tab of E, so he popped the champagne open, and drank glass after glass.

It tasted like solitude.

+

“Marvin Deekins is the new Mayor of Pittsburgh!”

The cries of joy were deafening, but all Brian could do was release the breath he’d been holding for days now. He leaned down, head bowed with mad relief. He glanced up and quickly looked for Justin, caught his eye. Justin made his way to him, speechless and shocked as he was. Brian caught him in a tight embrace, breathing in his clean, fresh scent.

“You did it, Brian,” Justin’s whisper was clear through all the noise. His smile was the only thing Brian could see. “I didn’t think – fuck, I’m so fucking glad.”

Brian cupped Justin’s cheek, running his thumb over it, and pulled him in for another hug. “ _We_ did it.”

Debbie yelled something about dancing, and led a massive queer stampede to the streets. Justin laughed, but made no move to follow, kept himself close to Brian’s body. Brian turned to the bartender. “Hey, give me a bottle of champagne.”

The bartender winked, and opened a bottle of Moet before handing it to Brian. Brian hooked an arm around Justin’s shoulders and led him outside. He drank deep, straight from the bottle. He took in the scene in front of him, the dancing, the rainbow flags, the fucking unrestrained joy, which would probably lead to plenty of unrestrained fucking.

Brian kissed Justin, and the leftover taste of champagne in his mouth made the kiss taste like triumph.

+

Champagne flowed. Bottles upon bottles were opened, glasses filled and refilled. Kinnetik was finally open for business, and Brian was going to celebrate. This is what he’d always wanted, ever since he picked his major, since his first internship, his first job. Doing things on his terms, answering to no one.

Brian stood atop a small platform, Justin, Lindsay and Cynthia at his side. “I’d like to thank my clients, my employees, and my friends, for being here tonight to help launch Kinnetik!” He toasted everyone with his champagne glass. One way or another, they’d all helped him get here. “It hasn’t been easy. They say that the market is shrinking. They say that it’s the wrong time to start a new agency,” Brian shrugged, and then gave everyone a smile. “Well, I say – don’t believe a fucking word. Especially in advertising.”

People clapped and cheered, complimented his bravery, his genius, his balls. Brian took a deep drink from his glass, kissed Justin.

And even more champagne flowed.

+

Brian saved one of the champagne bottles they bought for the wedding. It sat at the back of the wine cellar, waiting. Waiting, like the little black velvet box. Waiting, like the dream manor, with its tennis court and pool and stables. Waiting.

Time would pass. The waiting would end. And Brian would drink the champagne. Whether in celebration or goodbye, alone or with Justin, only time could tell. Only time.

+

Brian walked into the loft to find Justin waiting for him. It was mostly dark, a few candles illuminating the living room, and the soft glow was enough for Brian to see a single red rose lying on the glass coffee table, next to a black velvet box.

“I’m back,” Justin said, stepping closer.

Brian put down his briefcase, took off his coat. “I can see that. What’s all this?”

Justin looked back at the coffee table, the rose and the box, and bit his lip before answering. “I have to ask you something.”

Brian snorted. “You couldn’t ask over the phone?” He made a move to walk past Justin into the bedroom, but Justin held him back with a hand on his arm. Brian closed his eyes for a second, feeling overwhelmed at the multitude of sensations assaulting him – Justin’s warmth, his scent, his presence. Sunshine.

“No. Had to be face to face.”

Brian finally met Justin’s gaze fully. His breath caught in his throat at all he could read in those blue eyes. “So ask,” he whispered.

“Brian, I figured something out, these years I’ve been in New York. You were right.”

Brian swallowed, looked away. These years in New York. Almost three years. Brian had all but refused to talk to Justin at first, certain that a clean cut was what he needed. Justin wasn’t at all happy with the plan, and after a few pissed off phone calls and a visit, they worked things out. Not a long distance relationship, exactly. What they’d always been, with a few miles between them, with a few more words and less questions asked. And, now, Justin was back. Brian knew, without needing to ask, that Justin was back for good. What he wasn’t sure about was what being back entailed. “I’m always right. What about?”

“About us. We don’t need celebrations, and wedding parties, and seating charts. We don’t need other people’s approval. We don’t need anything but each other.” Justin shrugged, gave a rueful chuckle. “I know I let myself get carried away, by what I thought I wanted – Michael’s life. But we’re not Ben and Michael. We’ll never be them.”

Brian smirked. “And thank god for that. Can you imagine eating that tofu crap every single day?”

Justin refused to take the bait, he simply rolled his eyes and stepped even closer. “Brian, we make our own rules. We always have. We don’t fit molds, and we shouldn’t have to. All I want, Brian – all I want is you. You and me. And fuck the rest of the world.”

Brian could barely hear his own voice as he asked the question he had to ask. He was sure his hands were trembling, he was sure his eyes were showing more emotion than he was comfortable with. “And New York?”

“New York…” Justin sighed. “It was a good experience. I met some great people. But who the fuck said you had to go to New York to be an artist? And who the fuck thought going to New York, without a plan or contacts, or anything other than a good review, was a good idea?” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t regret going, because I grew up. But I won’t miss it, because everything worth having is here.”

Brian nodded. Then, he turned and headed to the small closet by the kitchen that worked as a wine cellar.

“Brian? Where the hell are you going?”

Brian didn’t reply, and rummaged around until he found the bottle he was looking for. He made his way back to Justin, who looked at the champagne questioningly.

“Well, unless I’m reading this wrong, the speech and the rose and the black box – they mean you’re finally gonna make an honest man out of me, right?” Brian raised an eyebrow. “So, I say we get loaded on champagne and get to the good part already, the wedding night.”

“Fuck, Brian, I was trying to be romantic,” Justin huffed.

“You were. Ridiculously.” Brian tugged Justin closer with his free hand, grabbing him from around the back of the neck, and leaned in for a long, hard kiss. “Now come to bed. And bring the rings.”

Later, Brian lay with Justin curled at his side, his head on Brian’s chest, Brian’s arm around his shoulders. He smiled when he looked at his left hand, platinum band on his ring finger. He could feel the cool metal of Justin’s band against his chest, where Justin’s left hand rested against his heart. The champagne bottle was empty on the bedside table, having been kissed, rimmed and fucked away. Brian was sure he’d regret not taking a shower in the morning, both he and Justin were sticky, but he didn’t want to move.

Justin was home. They were both home, at last.

+

Brian was a whiskey man. It was the best thing to get drunk to, the thing he always asked for. Whiskey was simple: hard liquor, burning warmth, fast action. But champagne, champagne was more complicated. Sweet and tangy at once, bubbly and dangerous. A lot like life, a lot like love. Unexpected, intoxicating and rare – bittersweet.


End file.
